


Get Back in My Life

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [5]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	Get Back in My Life

                I’ve only just gotten Olive settled down for the night when the doorbell rings.

                I consider not going to answer it. At 9 o’clock at night, I can’t imagine who would show up at my door. Georgia’s out, because she’s at her mother’s for the weekend; if she’d decided to come home early, she would have called. There’s nobody else I can think of who would feel comfortable showing up at my front door with no warning.

                So of course it’s her.

                “Catherine? What on earth—“

                Her eyes are red, slightly bloodshot, and I can’t tell if it’s from of crying, exhaustion, alcohol, or some combination of the three. “David.”

                It’s been over a year since we talked, and even longer since we spoke face-to-face. Part of that is because we agreed it would be for the best to stay away for a while. But we never defined “a while”, and it reached a point where I was just shy and embarrassed and scared.

                Now, though, with her standing on my doorstep looking so sad and lost, all of my nervousness goes away, replaced with concern. I step back, expecting her to come inside, but she just looks at me. “Is Georgia here?”

                I shake my head. “She and Tyler are staying with her mum for the weekend.”

                With that out there, she steps over the threshold and allows me to close the door behind her.

                “Would you like something to drink?” I’m speaking low, like I expect to be caught in the middle of doing something horribly wrong.

                It’s a sad day when I feel like I’m committing a crime just by allowing my best friend to enter my house.

                She nods. “Yes, some water would be lovely.”

                I lead her to the kitchen, and she sits down at the table while I pull out two glasses and fill them at the tap. I set them down, and by the time I’m sitting across from her, she’s practically emptied her glass. “Jesus Christ. What is going on?”

                “I’m tired, David.” Catherine has finished drinking, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.

                “Tired?” I sound confused, and presumably I look it too.

                Her expression is so serious, so sincere. And again, she nods. “Yes. I’m very tired.”

                I hesitate, just watching her for a moment. She really does look exhausted. I could drive her home, but from the way she’s looking at me I’d have to fight her to get her there. I think about my couch, wonder if I could get her to lie down on it. Then I think of the guest room upstairs. “I can tell you’re tired, Catherine. If you want, you can come upstairs and I can set up the guest room. We can talk in the morning.” It would certainly give me longer to figure out what the hell I could say to her.

                Except she shakes her head. “No. I don’t want to sleep.”

                So she’s tired, but she doesn’t want to sleep.

                I want to make a comment about how women make no sense, but judging from the way she’s looking at me, I don’t think it would be very well-received. “Okay.”

                We’re both silent for a little while. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken with her that I don’t really know where to start. With her acting so bizarre, I don’t know how she’ll react to what I say. So I just don’t say anything.

                “I drank alcohol today. I’m absolutely pissed right now.” She says it conversationally, as though she’s telling me that she got a haircut or that she thinks the weather is odd for this time of year. “For the first time since that party, I decided— _decided_ , mind you—to get drunk.”

                Mentally, I scan through a list of reasons for Catherine to make the choice to go out and drink. And I come up with nothing. “Why—“

                “Why?” She smiles at me, but not because she’s happy. It’s more like I’m the victim of some cruel joke. “Well David, Twig came to pick up Erin this morning. For some reason, when I saw him, I started thinking. About the night he and I called it quits.”

                I stare at her. “You’re drunk, darling. Stop. Now. I don’t want you saying anything you’ll regret tomorrow morning.”

                She shakes her head. “I won’t say anything that I haven’t been thinking for the past year.”

                I clench my jaw and stare at her, hard. Maybe she won’t go on.

                That is such a minute possibility that it’s absurd I even consider it. “I started thinking about the night Twig and I broke up. And everything I told him.” She reaches across the table and grabs one of my hands, holding it tightly between her own. Her thumb brushes softly against my skin, gliding over my knuckles to the pads of my fingers and back. “I told him that he and I were, for all intents and purposes, married, and that I couldn’t go on that way when I was in love with another man. ‘It’s not right,’ I told him. ‘It’s not fair to you, me, him… It’s not fair to anyone.’ That’s what I told him. And you wanna know what he said to me?”

                No. Not at all. There is very little that I want to hear less. But instead of saying so, I manage to croak out, “What?”

                “Well, he made an educated guess about what man I was in love with.” My eyes grow wide. She never told me this. “He told me that the man was a bastard. ‘At least I would be able to make you happy,’ he said. ‘At least with me, you would have had some feeling of permanence,’ he said. Because even though Twig had never said anything bad about this man before in his life, he took that opportunity to say, ‘You will never be his final choice.’ Isn’t that interesting? I think that’s interesting.” Catherine is crying now, silent with no sniffling, no catching her breath. Just the tears rolling down her cheeks. I can’t go around to her side of the table and hug her. She won’t let me comfort her. So I just grip her hand a bit more tightly, a small attempt to show her I see that she’s in pain. She makes no indication that she notices. “I told him he was speaking nonsense, of course. I told him that the man I loved just so happened to also love me. I told him nothing was more permanent than the love I felt for this man, than the love he felt for me.”

                “Catherine—“ She actually pauses, and looks at me expectantly. But I don’t know what I could possibly say.  I have no idea when I’ve ever felt so helpless.

                “And then you wanna know what happened, David?”

                I shake my head. Why is she talking about this now? I want her to stop. I need her to stop.

                “I called up the man I loved to tell him that we were finally free to be together.” Her eyes are fixed on our hands now, resting on the table. I’ve interlaced my fingers with hers; I know she wouldn’t have done so, but I can’t remember doing it myself. “And instead, I found out that he was engaged.”

                “Sounds like a wanker…” I murmur, staring down at our hands as well. “You deserve better.”

                “Probably.” She laughs… actually laughs. The sound is both wonderful and painful; I have no idea when I last heard her laughing, and I love her laugh. But she’s drunk, she’s upset, and this laugh has her unpleasant emotions hiding just below the surface. “Unfortunately, he was also my best friend. Isn’t that always the way?”

                “Always.”

                Catherine picks my hand up from the table, pulling it closer and peering at it. Looking to see if the details she had memorized are still present. Directly to my hand, she says, “So at his wedding, we talked, and decided to stay away from each other for a while. So we could get over each other. So that we could have a chance to live.”

                “I do recall hearing about such an agreement being made.”

                She releases my hand so suddenly that I can’t help but allow it to fall a few inches in the air. “And that’s why I drank. Because I was angry. Because I wanted to get up the nerve to go and actually talk to him. Because it feels like _ages_ since I’ve talked to him, David, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself without him in my life but I don’t know what I would do _with_ him in my life either since he’s fucking _married_.”

                Now she lets herself cry. She leans forward and buries her face in her hands, and I listen to her sob. She’s never bared her soul to me quite like she’s doing now. I used to think that she’d shown me everything, but there is no way she’s ever told me something that clearly made her feel so naked.

                Finally, she looks up at me. She sniffles, and wipes her nose across her sleeve. Suddenly, all pretense is gone. “I’m tired of staying away from you, David. I miss you.”

                Some hair has fallen in front of her eyes, and I reach out and brush it back behind her ear. “I miss you too.”

                I slide my untouched glass of water over to her as well, and she finishes it in two gulps. “I think I want to take you up on your offer now.”

                “What offer?”

                “Guest room. I don’t… don’t make me go home tonight.”

                She and I make her bed together, holding eye contact the whole time. I’m about to retreat to my own bedroom, but before I can she’s come around the bed and wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. Her embrace feels wonderful, oh so familiar, and I pull her closer and feel her melt in my arms.

                “Will you stay with me?”  She murmurs. I raise my eyebrows, but even though she can’t see them she’s prepared for what I’m thinking. “Just friends, David. You wouldn’t have refused during _Doctor Who_ , if I was like this. Be my friend.” I’m still prepared to say no before she whispers, “Please.”

                So I climb into bed with Catherine. Cradle her in my arms as she falls asleep, our synced breathing the only sound filling the room.


End file.
